


but all i see is him right now

by saskiac



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, PINING !!, Yearning, fluff but also angsty but also not, soft touches, they are always soulmates, where and when is this set you ask? u decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 21:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20748980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saskiac/pseuds/saskiac
Summary: let's call this eliott and lucas hanging out in an unknown location, in an unknown setting, in an unknown time; lucas' head is muddled by thoughts of how much he wants eliott.or, the one where lucas sighs dramatically (several times) and they talk about soulmates.





	but all i see is him right now

if he closes his eyes, and just .... thinks back on tender hours of hands brushing and cheeks flushing and red lips and warm breath, he — 

“where are you?” 

lucas squints his eyes open against the afternoon sun, blinking rapidly, and, perhaps, frowning because the person before him let’s out a light laugh, their silhouette changing from pure light to brown, fluffy hair, indiscernible grey-green-blue eyes and pink lips spread in a teasing smile: “you did it again.” 

eliott is sitting there, smiling in all his breathtaking glory, staring directly at lucas who, in turn, grows warm in the cheeks and looks down at his hands. he did it again — the daydreaming seemed a prerequisite to hanging out with eliott recently. in lucas’ case, anyway. recently, he thinks, they haven’t even known each other that long. 

“i should put that on my resume: interesting enough to bore lucas lallemant out of his intelligent mind.” 

that’s because i spend every single minute of every day thinking about you, making up stupid fantasy scenarios about us; being in your company makes my brain overload, but lucas can’t say that. so, he narrows his eyes and kicks out a leg against eliott’s ankle, because he’s an emotionally mature adult who knows how to respond to digs no matter how lighthearted they are. eliott responds by grabbing lucas’ ankle and squeezing it. lucas tries to kick his leg out of eliott’s grasp, but soon stops — he’s tired and there’s no heart in it — lets out a dramatic sigh before lying down on his back and looking up at the sky. 

seconds later he feels light fingers on the bare skin of his ankle where his jeans must have ridden up, his leg jerks in response to the soft touches, the fingers stop and when he relaxes once more, they pick up again. 

no words are uttered, contrary to the rush of thoughts that consume lucas’ mind as eliott tattooes lucas’s ankle with his soft, calloused finger tips. the thing is, lucas has never had a friend quite tactile as eliott. someone who hugged everyone he met; he would hang his arm around your neck in a group circle; instead of pointing out you had something on your shirt he’d pick it off himself or take a piece of fluff out of someone’s hair. lucas couldn’t name the number of times he and eliott’s hands would brush when they walked side by side after school, but lucas always put it up to eliott and his cuddly demeanour. he was, by nature, a soft dude. his presence was magnetising; to be at the centre of that attention that everyone, whether they knew him well or not, craved, was sublime. so lucas didn’t question that moment, where others would see it as something more, he knew it wasn’t, and yet against all reason and logic he couldn’t quite help himself, knowing what would follow, he still let himself dream it was. it hurt when he thought about it too much which was all the time, but soaking up eliott’s presence and being with him, even in only a platonic way, seemed to ease the pain, but when lucas was on his own that was a different matter. the nights when he couldn’t sleep because of his insomnia, he would lie there in bed and dream, he would pull back his yellow curtains, encouraging the moon spread her light, initiating thoughts of that drawing. the greek on the moon. lucas liked to think of the moon as selene; ever since he’d learned that greek name, and ever since he’d seen eliott’s drawing, that name seemed to give it a new life — they were both ruled by the moon, after all, being cancers and all.

“i was thinking about the moon.” lucas spoke, volunteering his thoughts for no other reason than he felt like it. 

“what about her?” eliott’s interest was palpable, he even stopped tracing patterns on lucas’ calf. lucas yearns for the touch, almost to the point he forgets what he was speaking about, but not quite.

“about your self-portrait on the moon.” he glances at eliott who looks thoughtful, waiting for lucas to continue. “and i was thinking how would you draw me? what animal would i be?” 

eliott’s silent for a few seconds, contemplative. then he says, “sit up for me.” 

lucas complies, suddenly feeling nervous in that i’m-in-love-with-you-and-it’s-so-obvious way, believing that his eyes will give him away so he gives himself a second before meeting eliott’s eyes. eliott is sitting by his feet, considering lucas. he tilts his head and gets a faraway look in his eyes, picking up the beer resting beside him: “i’d have to think about it.” 

okay, lucas thinks, okay.

eliott is fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, so lucas proceeds to lie back down and sigh once more. sometimes he thinks it’s not one sided — the feelings, that is. in the mornings after having drank too much at a party and inevitably retreating back to one of le gang’s homes, and walking home together at 11am because they live only a street away from each other in the opposite direction to the other three. in the mornings when it’s tipping towards a warm afternoon, but they’re both decked out in their jackets, messy hair and morning breath and slow gaits, wishing to be home but also wishing for just a second longer in the other’s company. maybe there’s a hand brush or two, a few glances out of the corner of the eye, playful shoving because can one really be around eliott without some kind of physical contact that somehow leads to slightly longer touches, followed by avoided glances and painful hearts and close tears. but as soon as he’s had a few eliott-less hours logic returns and reprimands lucas for being so naïve because no one ever loves the person who craves love due to severe abandonment issues. no one could ever love the boy who turns spiteful when he’s angry and spits out harsh words he doesn’t mean. 

lucas feels himself getting agitated by his ceaseless negative, spiralling thoughts and so he ditches that train of thought to prevent the casualty he can see himself creating. he sits back up, tugs his knees to his chest, tilting the side of his head to rest on them. he glances at eliott who is already staring back at him. 

“are you sure you’re okay?” eliott inquiries, concern etched on every plain of his sun-kissed face. summer is almost over. eliott brushes a hand through lucas’ hair once before cradling his beer bottle once more. “you don’t seem yourself today.” he concludes. 

lucas shrugs his shoulders and decides to be honest for once. “i don’t feel in the best mood. sorry for my terrible company.” 

eliott shakes his head, but before he can come up with what lucas believes would be a placating response, despite no times of this before, lucas interrupts, changes the subject. “i’ve never met anyone guy who is so comfortable around their male friends.” 

as soon as it’s out of his mouth he regrets it. eliott’s hand retreats, his body language immediately becomes closed-off: shoulders hunched, no eye contact — eyes squeezed shut before glancing off to the side. lucas wants to hit himself, badly. 

“no!” lucas yelps. it’s instinctive because he adores eliott, and hurting the people he cares for is the last thing he wishes to do despite the recent regularity of it. sometimes lucas thinks he hurts himself this way on purpose, punishes himself for being this messed up boy, any time he’s reached the light. he doesn’t find eliott’s tactile nature weird. if anything, he yearns for it — his heart almost craves it. “i-“ love it. he takes a breath, because he can’t say that. “i didn’t mean it like that. i meant- it’s you. that’s just how you are. you’re warm and you-“ lucas stops. he can’t believe he- he can’t look eliott in the eye — doesn’t know if he could conceivable do so anyway because he hasn’t looked at eliott’s face since he retreated into his shell — so he does the next best thing instead. he, ungracefully, pushes eliott’s legs down and flops down on them, resting his head on eliott’s thighs and raising an arm to shield his eyes from the glaring sun which has begun to set. 

“it’s just different to all our other friends, you know? but it’s nice. it’s beyond nice,” and he goes rambling on, because he’s nervous but he wants to make sure eliott knows for certain that it’s not weird, that’s it’s good, in fact. “it’s comforting. especially for someone who didn’t grow up with that kind of ... familial affection.”

eliott relaxes after those words, disrupting his own silence with movement. carefully brushes a strand of lucas’ perpetually errant hair behind his ear and he’s smiling, full teeth and beautiful crinkled-eyes, causing lucas’ stomach to drop. 

how is he supposed to breathe normally around that? lucas’ mind conjures up paintings from the few museums eliott has successfully managed to drag him to. he pictures contrasting harsh and soft lines, bold colours and soft tones. but his mind lands on muted, yellow flowers- sunflowers, which he’s sure were once bright and confident in their own beauty, dulled by time and the constant attention of roaming eyes: from breathless awe to complete apathetic glances. now, lucas has never actually see the painting in real life, rather, only through the fractured screen of eliott’s phone, but they stole the air from his lungs the first time he laid eyes on them. lucas has never been the most artistic, preferring the practicality and logic of science, he thinks years of unnecessary school trips to galleries tainted art for him, forever, until he met a certain someone. he’s not sure why these sunflowers have this specific affect on him, and whether it’s actually the painting itself, or rather how the moment he was shown them still compels feelings of joy and unbridled laughter from him, especially in his most desolate moments. eliott was practically standing on top of lucas, buzzing with excitement, phone shoved directly in lucas’ line of sight — definitely too close, because lucas had burst out laughing, grabbed eliott’s hand with the phone in, and pulled it back from his eyes, which had closed from the brightness and nearness of the screen to them. his head had fallen back against eliott’s shoulder and he’d looked up at him, shaking his head:

ok, ok, ok!

ok, lucas lied. It’s definitely the feeling of that moment that made him love the painting so.

“look at the sky, lu.” eliott’s quiet voice disperses lucas’ thoughts.

lucas glances up. he hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten; the sky was a gradient of beauty: magenta, easing into a violet, dripping into a cerulean blue. there is something magical about dusk, as the sky is no longer dominated by the burning sun, is left to its own devices, unraveling its perpetual blue to reveal a masterpiece of colour.

eliott glances at lucas whose face must mirror his own feelings because he responds. “yeah.”

“i like this.” 

“me too.”

“i’m surprised you’ve been single this long.” 

eliott snorts out a laugh, tipping his head back. “four months. all of which you’ve known me for.” 

“huh, four months?” 

“yep.” a hand brush through lucas’ brown locks. 

“feels like forever.”

“i know.”

-

a few hours roll by, the daylight hours cycling at a rapid pace, it’s almost time for them to leave each other, but that’s not what’s on lucas’ mind, he’s found himself getting all heated over a topic many find nonsensical — that he wouldn't dare raise with le gang in fear of being laughed out — but he’s with eliott and they often find themselves getting all kinds of existential about fate and relationships and people.

“this idea that there’s only one person on the planet who your soul connects with is bullshit.” 

“you don’t believe in soulmates?” 

“no, it’s not that. i just don’t believe that there’s only one person out there ‘meant’ for you. i think you can connect with more than one person like that. every relationship is different, right? you talk to each friend about something different, or maybe the same thing but in polar-opposite ways. like, yann is definitely my soulmate. i love him. no one gets me like he does. he’s my brother. but i also have arthur who knows science like me; we can discuss new and old theories or articles we’ve read — that’s a passion we both share and i don’t get quite the same feeling when i’m speaking with someone else. then there’s basile who, yeah, jokes around a lot, is inappropriate 85% of the time, but what most people miss, because they don’t take the time to get to know him, is that he’s a fucking brilliant listener, you know? so if someone’s gonna sit there and tell me there’s only one person on the planet for each person then i’m calling bullshit because i have these three great dudes in my life who are without a doubt, my soulmates.” lucas is breathing slightly harder than normal, almost like he’s just finished a 200m sprint. he didn’t mean to get so passionate and worked up. he’s almost embarrassed again. but he didn’t say anything stupid, he’s sure of that, and he meant every single word. 

“i always thought the idea that there’s only one person you really fall in love with was romantic as fuck, but...what you just said...your conviction proves that feeling wrong,” eliott responds, licking his dry lips once. “i never thought about friends as soulmates, but it makes complete sense.” 

“i don’t know about love...” lucas teeters off. “i’ve never really felt that before.” he admits, looking down at his hands and turning them over, because he’s insecure on this subject matter — the expectations that everyone is young when they first experience it, and if you haven’t you’re automatically deemed an outsider. is it a lie though? has he never felt it, what are these feelings he gets around eliott? he loves hanging out with him but does he love him? can lucas love in that way? 

“it’s strange. it’s the most consuming emotion. it’s one of the best and worst feelings...i miss it.” 

“you miss being in love or you miss your ex. aren’t they kind of the same thing?” 

“i don’t miss my ex, but, yes, i miss being in love.”

lucas doesn’t respond and eliott, it seems, doesn’t feel the need to expand on that, despite lucas’ brain wanting it more than anything — for eliott to explain why and if there’s someone he likes... another few minutes pass by in their companionable silence, no daydreams for lucas, just the sounds of traffic, pushchair wheels bumping over fallen twigs and a cold, subtle breeze — a harbinger of the night — it comes and it goes, much like their conversations that day.

“so, what about me?” eliott inquiries with a teasing smile on his lips. the breeze, though seemingly gentle, has carolled his hair into a wilder state — it brings a smile to lucas’ face, who only tilts his head in response.

“am i a soulmate?”

they’re sitting only a few inches apart, and the question feels personal — almost too much, but lucas has been spiralling on thoughts of eliott all this time, and he can’t help himself any longer.

“are you a soulmate?” lucas ponders, crossing his knees to sit directly in front of eliott who nods in askance.

“hm.” is all lucas replies as he raises his palms and indicates for eliott to do the same, which he does, placing his palms against lucas’. warmth blooms, and they both let out light sighs, masked by the other’s; it’s a cobalt-blue sky now, and the noises of the lives of the people around them are muted to the feeling of their contact. 

lucas swallows and puts on a grin, “dear world, is eliott demaury a potential soulmate for i, lucas lallemant?” he felts warm breath ghost out in a chuckle.

lucas raises his eyebrows with a mock reprimanding look in his eyes. “what’s so funny?” eliott rolls his lips in, trying to prevent the smile and laugh from escaping before opening his mouth to sincerely apologise, but lucas interjects. “this is serious. i mean, if you don’t want to find out if we’re destined to know each other for life, then, i don’t know why i’m wasting my precious time.” all this he says, while trying to maintain his raised eyebrows, but eliott’s cheeks are puffing out and lucas’ head is becoming slightly sore from exercising his eyebrow muscles, and they’re looking each other dead in the eyes now — blues and greys and greens dark with no light to illuminate them — trying not to crack up. eliott clutches his stomach, falling forward, his forehead resting on lucas’ shoulder.

it’s a bliss no words can name, no language lucas knows can describe this feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written in over 5 years (im sure u could tell), so i apologise for this mess, but thank you so much for reading !! 💕 :)
> 
> i apologise for the length too, i can't write lengthy stuff


End file.
